Chapter 5~ Never The Villain

Chapter 5

⟿❂⟾

Nikolai

⟿❂⟾

It was 38 minutes past 5p.m and she hadn’t called.

I was checking my fucking watch like a fool.

I leaned against the open door of the black SUV, my gaze flicking from the warehouse to the men inside. This deal should have been wrapped by now, but everything about tonight felt slower than usual, maybe because I wasn’t in the mood for patience.

Luigi stood to my left, flicking his lighter open and closed, the metallic snick echoing between us grated so hard on my fucking nerves.

Manuel stood a few feet away, cigarette dangling from his lips as he muttered something to another guy beside him. Across from them, our ‘business partners’ for the evening, Bruno Santini and his men were huddled around the crates, whispering like schoolgirls.

Santini was short, greasy, and about as trustworthy as a snake in a crib. His boys were restless as a virgin on her wedding night, their fingers twitching toward their weapons every few minutes.

I didn’t trust him. Not because he was a liar—we were all liars—but because he was stupid. And stupid men made deadly mistakes.

I checked my watch again. 5:44 p.m.

Luigi noticed. Of course he did.

“You keep looking at your watch like you got a hot date,” he muttered, exhaling a long stream of smoke.

I didn’t look at him. “Something like that.”

Luigi scoffed. “Didn’t know you do dates, capo.”

The thought alone made my jaw clench. I don’t chase. I don’t wait. I take what I want. People adjust their lives around me, not the other way around. But that little helpless nun hadn’t called yet.

Maybe that building I sent the memo to was the wrong one? The thought made me want to punch something.

“Bloody fucking hell,” I cussed not-too-silently. “I might need to do more than just buying a fucking building.”

Luigi lifted a concerned brow.

I ignored him and straightened, then walked toward the crates in the center of the room. Business first. Manuel and another one of my men were already prying them open, exposing neat stacks of brick-shaped packages wrapped in plastic.

Coke. Pure.

I reached inside and grabbed one, then tossed it toward Luigi. “Test it.”

He nodded and sliced the thin layer of plastic, then he dipped the tip of a knife inside. With a flick of his thumb, he brought it to his tongue.

I locked eyes with Santini as we waited for Luigi’s verdict on the product. One shaky breath and someone’s skull would be decorating these walls.

Luigi finally clicked his tongue and wiped the blade on his sleeve. “Clean.”

Santini exhaled through his nose.

And there came his new found confidence. He adjusted his position, arms crossed, his beady little eyes darting between me and the product like he was debating whether or not to grow a spine.

I tilted my head. “Something wrong, amico?”

He hesitated. Never a good sign. “This is a big deal, Nikolai.”

I arched my brow. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

“I want to know—“

“You’re asking me to move a lot of weight through my routes.” I said, “All that cash, you didn’t think I’d just take it and bid you farewell, did you?”

Santini shifted, his fingers drumming against his forearm. “It’s just, I don’t know if I have the means to move this much.”

I checked my watch again. 5:56 p.m.

I glanced at Luigi, who rolled his eyes and muttered something in Italian under his breath. Here we fucking go.

I took a step closer. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

Santini stiffened. “No. It’s just… this much product, moving this fast? It attracts attention.”

I smiled, slowly. “Then move it quietly.”

Santini swallowed, his throat bobbing. “I just—”

I checked my watch again. 5:58 p.m.

I exhaled sharply. “You’re boring me, Santini.”

Luigi snickered.

Santini’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he kept talking. “I just don’t want smoke on my ass with the Mexicans. You understand—”

“No, I don’t.” My voice was soft, almost conversational, but it made the man freeze. “You agreed to this deal. We’re not here to debate logistics. You move it, or you don’t. But if you don’t…” I tilted my head toward Luigi. “We find someone else who will.”

Luigi grinned. “And you, amico, you find a grave.”

That triggered Santini. He made an almost imperceptible reach. His men mirrored him, their hands inching toward their weapons.

Manuel sighed dramatically. “Do we have to do this?”

I kept my eyes on Santini. “You’re either in, or you’re out. If you’re out, you already know how this ends.”

Santini swallowed hard. “I—”

A gun cocked. Not mine. One of his men—stupid, trigger-happy, and not nearly fast enough.

The silence snapped.

In a blur, I grabbed Santini by the collar and yanked him forward, using his body as a shield just as a shot rang out. The bullet buried itself in the crate behind us. Expensive white powder exploded from the impact.

Luigi moved fast, pulling his gun and firing into the cluster of Santini’s men. Manuel was already in motion, he ducked behind a stack of crates, took aim and took down two men with a single fire.

Head shot, clean.

Santini struggled in my grip. “Wait! Fuck! Tell them to stand down!”

I wrenched his arm behind his back and pressed my gun to his temple. “You lost that privilege the second your idiot pulled a gun on me.”

Another shot rang out. One of Santini’s men went down, his blood splattering across the concrete floor.

Santini was trembling now, his breath came in short, panicked gasps. “Please—”

I pressed the barrel harder against his skull. “Call them off.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Stand down! Stand the fuck down!”

His men hesitated. Some lowered their weapons. Others weren’t as smart.

Luigi exhaled and stepped forward. “Anyone still holding a gun gets their fingers shot off. Choose fast.”

A beat. Then, one by one, the remaining guns dropped to the ground.

I released Santini with a shove, sending him stumbling forward. He turned, eyes wild, sweat dripping down his temple.

“This is a mistake,” he panted. “You think you can just strong-arm me—”

I shot him in the thigh.

Not really enough to do any real damage, but enough to warn him where that bullet would go next. The crack of the gunshot echoed first, followed by Santini’s strangled scream as he collapsed, clutching his shattered leg.

I crouched beside him and gripped his chin so he had no choice but to look at me. His pupils were blown wide, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Let me explain how this works,” I said, my voice almost gentle. “When I say you move the product, you move the fucking product.”

He nodded frantically, his skin pale from shock.

I straightened, then tucked my gun back into my holster. “Good.”

Luigi nudged one of the bodies with the tip of his boot. “So, are we still doing business, or do I dig another grave?”

Santini didn’t hesitate. “We—we’re still doing business.”

“Smart man.”

I checked my watch one last time. 6:03 p.m.

I checked my cell phone. Nothing.

Fucking waste of time.

I turned to Luigi. “Finish this. I’m leaving. Manuel, let’s go.”

Manuel arched his brow but nodded. “Where to?”

I didn’t answer.

I was already walking to the SUV, blood still drying on my hands, mind already on something—or rather, someone—else.

“Drive,” I ordered.

✧✼✧

30 minutes later, we were in front of the Iron Hold.

This place is what I like to call my Toy House.

The facility was a family relic of the past. Thick, rusted steel gates, concrete walls lined with barbed wire, and the lingering scent of death. It had been used for everything over the decades—war prisoners, political enemies, and now, my father.

Manuel pulled the SUV to a stop, killing the engine. “You sure about this?”

“Wait here. I’ll be right out.”

The cold evening air bit at my skin, but it was nothing compared to the ice lodged in my chest. Inside, the guards didn’t even look at me as I passed. They knew better.

At the end of the corridor, a single metal door stood waiting.

I pushed it open.

There he was.

Seated in a chair, wrists cuffed, ankles shackled, but somehow, he looked as though he hadn’t aged a day since the last time I saw him, and that was eight months ago.

Although his hair was thinner, his jaw sharper, his once commanding presence dulled by years of confinement, his shirt was wrinkled but still clean—someone had made sure he kept his dignity, even in captivity.

I could change all that, but I could never bring myself to lay my hand on him, not like he did to me anyway.

Still, when he lifted his head, the weight of his gaze was the same as it had always been. Calculating. Assessing. Never a father’s warmth, only a strategist’s evaluation.

A slow, amused smirk curled his lips. “Have you come to gloat?”

I stepped further inside and shut the door behind me. The metallic clang echoed.

“No,” I said flatly. “If I wanted to gloat, you’d be dead.”

He chuckled. “Ah, but then you’d be just like me.” His nostrils flared slightly, and his smirk deepened. “I can smell it on you. Blood. Fresh.”

I didn’t react.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his cuffs clinking. “I suppose you’re ruining things the way I taught you to.”

I scoffed. “I am nothing like you.”

That earned a real laugh, deep and rich. “Oh, Nikolai.” He exhaled with a shake of his head. “You’re worse.”

I held his gaze, silent.

His eyes gleamed in the dim light. “You carry yourself the same way I did at your age. That heavy anger, the burden of power. You walk into a room, and men either fall in line or end up in the ground.” He leaned back, the chains rattling as he did. “I hope you’re enjoying your time at the top.”

I tilted my head. “I hope you’re enjoying your time here.”

His lips twitched. “The fact that you haven’t killed me yet tells me I still have time.” He inhaled deeply, his expression shifting into something smug. “I can smell it on you.”

I didn’t answer.

His smirk widened. “Blood. Fresh.” His gaze flicked over me, reading me like a book he’d written himself. “You always were a messy one.”

“What’s the problem, Daddy?” I questioned with feigned fear. “Does it disappoint you that the stone you carved out of me is not as perfect as you’d have liked?”

He stared at me, really stared. “You look like me. You talk like me. You kill like me. And yet, you stand here, fists clenched, like some wounded child still trying to prove he’s different.” His smirk returned. “But we both know the truth, don’t we?”

I tilted my head, voice steady. “And what’s that?”

His eyes darkened, glinting with something dangerous. “That you hate me because you see too much of me in yourself.”

My fingers twitched at my sides. It would be so fucking easy to wrap them around his throat, to squeeze until that smirk faded, until those words died in his mouth.

But that would be mercy. And I didn’t believe in mercy.

Still, I gripped his chin, forcing him to meet my eyes. “I hate you—for everything you did to me. For everything you stole. And the only reason you’re still breathing, Matteo, is because I haven’t figured out how to undo the hell you put me through seven years ago. The second I do, you’ll be rotting a thousand feet under, sealed in an oil drum.”

The urge to drive something sharp into his gut clawed at me. My eyes shut for a brief second and I pressed my forehead to his shoulder, my voice a low whisper.

“That stunt your lackeys pulled last night? If anyone tries to break you out again, I’ll burn the family warehouse in Manhattan to the ground. Consider it a promise, Daddy.”

“You wouldn’t—”

I let go of his chin with a snap so sharp his head cracked against the chair. He barely flinched. My hands burned with the memory of touching him. I wiped them off on my pants, revolted.

After a pause, he said, “So, who’s the woman?”

I blinked. “What?”

His smirk returned. “You’re angrier than usual. Restless. Distracted. And not because of me.” His eyes gleamed, sharp and prying. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”

My jaw clenched. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

His gaze flicked over me, assessing. “Let me guess… she fights you. Challenges you. Makes you want to rip your own hair out and then kiss her senseless just to shut her up.” He tilted his head. “And yet, you can’t stay away.”

I said nothing.

He sighed like a teacher imparting wisdom to a slow student. “You need to remind her who you are. Women—they don’t need romance. They need to be conquered. Pursued.” He smirked. “Take her. Keep her. Make her understand that resisting is futile. That’s how you do it in our world.”

The words slithered through my veins like poison.

My voice was ice. “Like you did to my mother?”

His expression didn’t change. “She was rebellious at first.” He shrugged. “But then she liked it.”

My breath locked in my chest.

I took a step forward. He didn’t flinch.

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to see blood spill from that mouth that had fed me nothing but venom my entire life.

“You watched her die and you did nothing.”

“Some things cannot be helped, Son. One day, you’ll realize I was never the villain.”

I turned on my heel, shoving the door open.

His voice followed me, smooth and taunting. “Run from it all you want, Nikolai. But you’ll always be my son.”

I slammed the door behind me, leaving his laughter to rot with him.